


Ache

by thorinoakenbutt



Series: FFXIVWrite2020 prompts [15]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, White Mage Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), basically me going HEY SQUARE REMEMBER I'M A HEALER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorinoakenbutt/pseuds/thorinoakenbutt
Summary: Definition of part1: to suffer a usually dull persistent pain2: to become distressed or disturbed (as with anxiety or regret)3: to experience a painful eagerness or yearning
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: FFXIVWrite2020 prompts [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918291
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Ache

There is an ache within G'raha's chest that makes it hard to breath. Two of them, truthfully. The only partly healed wound that the Ascian dealt him has festered after several days lacking proper treatment. Emet-Selch had ensured he'd live, of course, if only just. He’s battered, bruised, and bleeding, but remarkably - surprisingly - alive.

The other pang resonates from his heart. He regrets much of what he’s done, even as he knows that he would do it all over again if given the opportunity to. Twined with the regret is anxiety for what may come now that his plans have fallen to the wayside, but stronger than that is the _yearning_. They’re both alive, miraculously, and G’raha wants nothing more than to throw his arms around E’andhris and weep. 

He _does_ weep, when E’andhris turns to him with a smile and tells him good morning, and calls him by name. “Tis good to be awake,” he replies through his tears. E’andhris envelopes him within strong arms and he lets himself collapse into them as the weight of the past hundred years crashes down upon him. His breathing comes more raggedly, wound aggravated by his heaving chest and he clings tighter to the fine white robes his Warrior has garbed himself in. 

He’s bleeding on him, he realizes belatedly as he watches white become marred by brilliant crimson. G’raha tries to stand back, but instead finds himself lowered to the ground with gentle hands that begin to glow a faint, familiar blue. He feels his body begin to stitch itself back together and he grits his teeth at the sensations. Discomfort soon gives way to relief, however, and he sucks in eager breaths as the tension leaves him. 

“Thank you,” he pants, reaching to cover E’andhris’ hand that lay on his chest with both of his own. The Warrior beams and runs a tender hand through his fringe. His fingertips tingle as they graze his forehead and G’raha realizes that the mage is closing the gash on his forehead. It doesn’t stop him from making a valiant attempt to match the exact shade of red of his eyes. Gods, but he is starved for touch. He chases E’andhris’ touch as he moves to pull away, but stops short, ashamed. 

“Come, let’s return home,” the Warrior says and G’raha feels tears well up yet again. _Home_. He never thought E’andhris would come to view _his_ home as such. His hands fist in the white mage’s robes without him realizing their intention, and E’andhris simply smiles and holds him close again. G’raha whispers thank yous against his chest as the mage traces a soothing path against his back with his hand. Once he composes himself, he gives a nod. 

“Yes, let’s go home.”

By all rights, E’andhris should be exhausted yet he bends at the knees and tells G’raha, “Hop on.” It’s an order, not a request, and so G’raha loosely wraps his arms around the taller miqo’te’s neck. E’andhris holds him by his knees as he stands, and the Exarch feels much like a child. He often carried Lyna just like this when she was yet small. A cheeky tail slips beneath his robe to twine with his own, much to his shock. He simply buries his face against one broad shoulder.   
The ache returns with a vengeance.

**Author's Note:**

> Another mini fic! I'm fighting a bit of writer's fatigue, but I've found that writing in this tense is helping, even if they've ended up shorter so far. I'm forever salty whenever it's ignored that my WoL is in fact a healer. Like tf, no I wouldn't let G'raha walk off covered in his own blood at the end of that cutscene!


End file.
